


Taco Bell? More Like Toxic Hell

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Albino Dave, Cute, Fluffy, Food, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Mystery Meat, Mystery Society, No Lettuce Thanks, Oh My God, Oneshot, Taco Bell, Tacos, Toxic Hell, booth, italian john, sauce, tomato
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 06:05:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3799669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave decides it is time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taco Bell? More Like Toxic Hell

**Author's Note:**

> i would be so happy if somebody proposed to me this way

Dave stepped in to the local Taco Bell, something him and John regular joked about, often calling it "Toxic Hell". Who even knows what was in the meat, really. It was funny though, for complaining about it so often, they certainly ate there a lot. At least once a week actually, enjoying the familiarity of cheap tacos and quick service. John trailed just behind him, holding the door open for some country looking guy with only a few teeth. He supposed it made sense that he'd be eating here, considering the meat in the tacos had the texture of something put through a blender on high speed. But as Dave walked up to the counter to order him and John the usual, he had an entire different agenda then just eating tacos today.

He was going to propose. He's had everything planned for over a month now, he just had to get the ring custom made. He hated diamonds. They were stupid, boring, and unoriginal. That simply wasn't Dave. In the place where a diamond would usually sit, was a pretty blue Aquamarine gemstone, one that he decided on instantly upon seeing. It matched his eyes so perfectly, he couldn't imagine deciding on anything else.

Stopping at the counter, Dave ordered what they always did. A box of twelve tacos, all the fixings on them. Well, except lettuce. They both agreed it was disgusting. Not the flavor itself, but the texture. Who wants to feel like they're eating leaves? Blasphemy. 

Then, as usual, John walked off (he has the attention span of a fucking squirrel sometimes, Dave swears), sliding in to the booth they've both always chosen. Dave keeps by the counter to wait for the tacos, not wanting to get comfortable and then have to get up all over again to get the tacos. Who needs that noise. He couldn't help but watch John, nerdy thick glasses sliding down his tanned freckled nose, oversized buckteeth gnawing on his bottom lip as he worked through a level of Mystery Society, oversized clothes practically hanging off of his chubby body. He had to force down a smile, and the urge to go over there and fuck up his game.

Was that love? Definitely.

When the tacos were slid towards them, he thanked the guy gratefully, before taking their also beloved black cherry icee's, moving over to all the sauce packets. He grabbed the specific one he was looking for first, slipping it in to his pocket to rest against the ring, feeling himself sweating further.

He then grabbed a few handfuls of the fire sauce packets, the only ones him and John ever actually used. He stuffed them all carelessly in to the bag, not really paying attention to them after that. He had what he wanted. Dave wondered if he'd even be able to eat, with the tight ball that seemed to make home in his stomach. He would power through. He didn't want John getting suspicious.

Honestly, one of the reasons he loves John is because he never put him on a pedestal. They never did that to each other. They both knew they had flaws, like for instance... both being major dicks? 

So Dave wasn't horribly surprised when he sat down, a loud fart noise rang out, turning the head of a few Taco Bell inhabitants. John barely even glanced up from his game. "Phew, Dave. Maybe you should lay off the Mexican food for a while, huh?" And Dave could see that stupid sadistic grin of his working overtime, rolling his eyes. Shifting, he pulled the whoopee cushion out from underneath him, lifting his foot under the table to kick John's phone so hard, it flew up and clattered against the table. Dave winced when he was kicked in the ankle, but laughed at the noise John made. Like a child whining because they lost their favorite toy. When John went to grab his phone, the blonde smacked his hand away, grabbing it with a much faster hand, taking it to rest on the seat next to him.

"But Daaave! It was only a joke!"

"You know what else is a joke? This so called restaurant. Now, if you prefer I eat your share of the tacos, I will gladly do so, and I will smile wider then a tiger that just ate a fucking gazelle while I do." 

John seems to relent, opening the box of tacos, pulling two out to begin with. He then grabbed six sauce packets. Dave was surprised they didn't make themselves sick with how much sauce they put on one measly taco. He just watched as John unwrapped it -- soft tacos of course -- opening four of the packets with his beaver teeth, drenching the tomato, meat, cheese and sour cream in red. So much red. Then rewrapping it, stuffing it halfway in his mouth in one bite. Yup, that's how one eats a taco.

Dave grabbed his own taco, definitely having no room to judge as he filled his own taco with a sickening amount of sauce, before letting the flavor of mystery meat and mostly sauce bloom on his taste buds. Living the fucking dream, that's for sure.

The blonde begins to practically wolf down the tacos, the coil in his stomach still there, but it obviously didn't effect his appetite too much, because he was still starving. He slowed down at his fourth taco, John staring at him with those baby blue eyes in amazement. "Holy shit, Dave. You freaking fatass, Jesus. We've been here five minutes. How do you even eat that fast?"

"It's called fast food for a reason, John."

"That's not what it means."

"I will shove my foot so far up your ass, it will go through your stomach and regurgitate your tacos."

"... Ew. Do you not want me to eat or something?"

"I'm not stopping you. Eat away, beaver."

John huffed, kicking Dave again under the table, and Dave merely grunted instead of actually putting in the effort to kick him back. 

Suddenly, the timing seemed perfect. John was lost in his taco again, and Dave was already stuffed. Reaching one pale hand down, he reached in to his skinny jean pocket, pulling out the two objects. He kept it underneath the table however, so John wouldn't see, slipping the sauce packet in to the ring before anything else. Dave could feel his hands shaking, and it wasn't hard to tell that they were. He could see them, and he took a slow breath to steady himself. He brought his hand up, in right after John swallows the taco he has in his mouth (doesn't want him choking, of course), setting the ring and sauce packet right in front of him.

Everything seems to freeze, John's expression, the taco in his hands, Dave's words, everything. Well, except the meat and sauce that began falling out the end of the taco, splattering on to the wrapper underneath it. 

Dave felt like he could just watch him forever. Swallowing to clear his throat, he began.

"I... I love waking up next to you every morning. I love you. Even when you put whoopee cushions on my seat, or stick your ice cold feet between my thighs in the middle of the night and wake me up. I love you when you wake me up at five in the morning to watch some lame movie you found. I love you when you're sick and whiny and complaining, and when you're singing along to Nikki Minaj in the car, and when how when we're painting a room and you run the the roller down my back and ruin my favorite shirt. I love you when you put your shoes on the wrong feet, and you get that look when you're playing the piano, and that you put up with me bringing random dead things home to put in jars. I love that you'll listen to me when I write some shitty rap, and I love when you stay up with me on nights I can't sleep. And above all, I just, I really love you. Just everything about you as a whole... asshole."

And John's staring, this look on his face, almost like the face he used to make when looking at Nic Cage, his old obsession that he's long since gotten over. And wow, is that one of the best feelings in the world. He seems to think for only a moment, before bringing a hand down, sifting through sauce packets. Dave tries to keep his gaze on the one he picks, but it's too fast for him to read, before he's getting a sauce packet thrown at his chest. He brings a hand down, nervously picking it up, a grin spreading over his normally stoic features as he read it.

"CHALLENGE ACCEPTED".


End file.
